I buy zucchini blossoms exactly once per year, and not because I want to. Sure, they look pretty, and I love the concept of fried zucchini blossoms — crisp and airy, redolent of fields of flowers — but I’ve never been able to deliver on that idea. Instead of light and crunchy my fiori come out oiled and heavy and I vow each year not to bother with them again. But there comes a time each summer when Martha, thinking wistfully of a summer abroad in Italy, insists that we buy a bunch and that I try to cook them.

I am confident to cook most of my farmers market haul without consulting references, but zucchini blossoms send me into panic mode and I dive deep into whatever my miscellaneous Italian cookbooks and the Internet have to tell me. In past years this has yielded up some interesting, if ultimately flawed, techniques. Patricia Wells’s Trattoria recommends making a meringue of a batter with three egg whites (along with flour, water and beer) which makes a nice fluffy coating. Nice and fluffy, that is, until the meringue produced after furious whisking starts to droop, and the battered blossoms with it. Even the first few flowers when the meringue was working were coated in a great puff of a shell that drew most of the attention to itself. I don’t remember on what website I found the recipe for the disaster of the year before that (I think club soda was involved) but if it had been any good, I would have saved it.

With two consecutive years of failure under my belt, I was determined as ever not to buy zucchini blossoms this year. I put up a pretty good fight, having delayed the purchase until late July before Martha finally got her way and we went home with a bundle of bright orange blossoms in our basket. Unsuccessful in my attempt to avoid them altogether, I was at least determined not to repeat the mistakes of the previous years, and by my calculation principal among them was reliance on dubious and finicky recipes. So I scrapped the recipes and went with what I knew in my heart to be true: when it comes to frying vegetables or anything else, you can’t go wrong with beer batter. Mine was made with half a bottle of my home-brewed Irish red ale and enough flour to achieve a thin consistency that was still substantial enough to fully coat the flowers.

It just goes to show you, to paraphrase a wiser man than myself, beer really is the solution to all of life’s problems. These fried blossoms were just what I was after: the batter was crisp but still delicate enough that you could tell you were eating a flower. Light salting after they came out of the oil was all the needed seasoning.

If you have the option, buy zucchini blossoms with long stems. These impart two advantages: the stem serves as a handle allowing you to swirl the flower fully in batter without getting your hand dirty, and this handle also affords you a method for lowering the blossoms into 350°F vegetable oil without burning off your fingerprints. It’s a real win-win.

While I’ve faced substantial doubt in the past about what to fry zucchini blossoms in, there’s never been any question what to dip them in once they are fried. I make aioli (whisk together a mashed clove of garlic, an egg yolk, citrus juice, salt, pepper and a little mustard then slowly whisk in about 3/4 of a cup of oil) thinned by using a higher proportion of lime or lemon juice — the thinness of the sauce is important as the delicate flowers won’t stand up to being dragged through a thick mayo.

My family is not Greek, but one of my favorite dishes my mom made when I was  growing up was moussaka — I’m not sure where or why she got the recipe. The version she made was roughly the Greek one, layered and and served warm (but there are many different versions). I wasn’t striving for authenticity with my own version, just trying to satisfy a craving. It’s a great dish for a lazy day of cooking; roasting the vegetables separately might seem picky and is certainly not traditional, but it gives the dish deep flavor.

Zucchini and Eggplant

Part of the reason for my making this dish was to use up the zucchini and eggplant that were lingering from last week’s trip to the farmers market. I would have preferred to use more eggplant, but I just used what I had: about two pounds of zucchini and one pound of eggplant. I sliced the vegetables about a quarter inch thick on the mandoline, tossed them with about a teaspoon of salt each and set them in separate colanders to exude some moisture. After about an hour, I wrapped the veggies in a thin towel and squeezed even more moisture out. I then tossed the sliced vegetables with olive oil and pepper (already plenty of salt on them) arranged them in a single layer on sheet pans (keep the vegetables separate throughout this process) and roasted them for about 30 minutes at 400ºF, flipping them halfway through, until they were deep brown in spots, almost starting to burn. I spread the zucchini evenly across the bottom of an eight inch square baking dish and set the eggplant aside.

These will form layers one and three of the assembled dish.

Tomato-Lamb Sauce

While the vegetables were roasting I sauteed a diced medium onion in olive oil until it softened, then stirred in a pound of ground lamb, a teaspoon of salt, and a dash each of ground cinnamon, allspice and cumin. I let that cook until the lamb was no longer pink, stirring frequently to break up the chunks of lamb, then added about a fourteen ounce can’s worth of tomato sauce (I actually used tomatoes I canned last year mixed with tomato juice left over from a canning project this morning). I let this reduce until little loose liquid remained, then poured it on top of the zucchini in the baking dish.

This is layer two; arrange the roasted eggplant slices atop the tomato sauce for layer three.

Béchamel

The last layer is simply a béchamel sauce; I sauteed two minced shallots in four tablespoons of butter until the shallots were translucent, then stirred in four tablespoons of flour and cooked it long enough for the roux to acquire some color, stirring all the time. I then slowly whisked in two cups of skim milk and added a teaspoon of salt and a dash of nutmeg. I let it boil a few minutes to thicken, and then poured it over the top of the baking dish to form the fourth and final layer.

I baked at 400ºF for thirty minutes, until the béchamel starts to brown. Allow the pan to cool for 10-15 minutes before cutting it so it can set up. Cut into squares and serve warm.

When Surly Hell was released last week, I prepared myself for what would be my one opportunity to try it (it sold out very quickly) by reading up on the style.  ’Hell’ is German for ‘light’ or ‘pale’, and according to my sage for all things beer, Garrett Oliver, the Helles style was developed as the Bavarian answer to the popularity of Bohemian pilsner. Traditional Bavarian lager was dark and with deeper flavor, Hellesbier was pale, golden and crisp. I found Surly Hell to fit the bill for this style exactly. While it was not a particularly unique beer, it was an excellent one — refreshing and actually quite fun to drink. It’s a shame the production was so limited.

But even if I’ll never get to drink it again, Surly Hell got me interested in Helles beers. On my most recent trip to the Four Firkins, the Helles Schlenkerla Lagerbier caught my eye. When I mentioned to the clerk that I was interested in this beer after trying Hell, he told me that this would be totally different. As it turns out, the Schlenkerla Brewery in Bamberg, the brewer of the Helles in question, is famous for a different beer: smokebeer. Smokebeer is made by smoking the barley malt before brewing. While the Helles I was in the process of buying is not smoked, it’s made with the same equipment as smokebeer, so it has a lot of residual smokiness. I’m not one to be dissuaded at the cash register: smoky Helles it was.

Trying the beer, I can’t say I agree with the clerk about it being totally different from Hell. The underlying beer was quite similar: crisp and sprightly, light-bodied and refreshing. But then there was the smoke. Even though the beer was not smoked, the smoke flavor was fairly strong; a bit like the flavor you got from smelling burning alder or cedar as you smoke a trout (for example). The flavor was not so strong as to drown out everything else that was going on with the beer, but the flavor of smoke was unmistakably there.

What to eat with this golden smoky beer? Barbecue, obviously. But what if you don’t have a grill? Well, then you need to get creative. I was looking for something that would match the smoke in the beer, but, lacking the capacity to actually make smoke, I thought a deep roasting might do the trick. I cut summer squash, zucchini and eggplant from the farmers’ market into large chunks, salted them and let them sit in the colander for an hour to exude some water. I then added a coarsely chopped onion and tossed everything in oil, salt and pepper. I placed everything on a half-sheet pan in the oven for about a half an hour until the vegetables were deeply browned and starting to burn. B

Once the roasted vegetables had cooled slightly, I tossed them with cooked quinoa, big chunks of heirloom tomatoes (these tomatoes were so good off the vine that it seemed a shame to roast them; that would be a good option for improving inferior tomatoes), minced parsley and a lemon vinaigrette (lemon juice, garlic, olive oil, salt and pepper). I thought the zippiness of the beer would be complimented by a lemony salad. And since Helles is so light and refreshing, I had some leeway to make the salad richer, which I accomplished with 4 oz of crumbled goat cheese that immediately became melted goat cheese.

For all the thought that went into constructing the salad around the beer, this pairing was a dud. I thought the Helles aspects of the beer worked well with the pockets of fresh tomato in the salad, the acid of the lemon juice, and as relief from the rich goat cheese. But there was nothing in the salad that could do anything with the beer’s smoke. Roasted vegetables, as much as I might want them to, do not taste smoky — they taste sweet. Perhaps grilling the vegetables over charcoal would fix this problem, but for me that is not an option. After trying the beer, the choice of barbecue seemed so obvious: drinking this beer would be like adding liquid smoke to the barbecue sauce; there would be total continuity between the food and the beer. In fact it’s hard to imagine a more perfect pairing.

As for the salad, I don’t think the idea of pairing with a traditional Helles is a bad one; it was the smoke that was so off-putting. Perhaps if they make another batch of Surly Hell I’ll make this salad again to celebrate.

This was a good beer and a good salad, they just weren’t very good together. Such is the magic of pairings.

I hate to toot my own horn, but I did an awesome job going through all my produce from the farmers’ market last week.  Between pickling, trying new recipes, and actually eating all our leftovers, by the end of the week our fridge, even our vegetable drawer, was looking empty. We even had to go to the grocery store for dinner Friday night since there was nothing left to eat in the house.

With this blank canvas to fill, I think I might have overdone it this morning. It didn’t help that this week instead of my usual school-size backpack I wore my Duluth Pack — something about that giant backpack makes you want to fill it. And with the variety and quality of produce available this time of year, it’s pretty hard to resist. Especially when $3 trays are 2 for $5. But what am I going to do with all this?

The haul for this week was: 3 onions, 8# generic tomatoes, basil, cantaloupe, fennel, garlic, potatoes, salad turnips, poblanos, honey gold tomatoes, variety heirloom tomatoes, eggplant, zucchini and summer squash and radishes. The cantaloupes are new for me this week but Brett and Mary of Real Bread recommended them strongly.

I made sure to return to the Honey Creek Farm stand where last week we bought edamame and sun gold and heirloom tomatoes that made some of the best caprese and Greek salads of all time. More tomatoes, for eating raw, were a must and although there were no edamame this week, there was another interesting vegetable: salad turnips. Apparently these Japanese vegetables taste like a mild radish. Although I like my radishes sharp and spicy, I couldn’t turn down a new vegetable to try.

As for those eight pounds of tomatoes, I bought those with the idea that it is time for me to finally start putting up tomato sauce for the winter. I kick myself every year for failing to do so, so this is the year. I am planning on following Hank Shaw’s instructions for making and bottling the stuff. I figure 8# should give me 3 quart sized jars, a good start.

As for the rest, well, I have no idea. But hopefully I’ll come up with something before next Saturday when it’s time to load up again.

The Midtown Farmers’ Market has settled into that easy summer rhythm where each week there are some new vegetables, some that have been around for a while are gone, but mostly you can buy more of what was good the week before. So while the greens (spinach, kale) are somewhat less abundant (and, consequently, I didn’t have to spend two hours this morning washing greens), the potatoes and zucchini are bigger, the first eggplant are available, and broccoli has been joined by its old friend cauliflower.

Strawberries were even more abundant than last week, with several vendors to choose from. I don’t remember the name of the farm we bought this week’s strawberries from but it is the same people who I bought a lot of apples from last fall; they know very well that if they offer free samples the fruit will sell itself. It is tempting to turn this batch of strawberries into sorbet, but I am determined to do something else with them this week: perhaps strawberry shortcake.

Peas are still widely available, though perhaps getting a bit tougher and starchier. I got English shell peas this week instead of sugar snap peas, so Martha and I had a fun time shelling peas and chasing them around the floor of our apartment.

Martha enjoyed observing the architecture of each shell’s interior: four peas per side, each with a very small point of connection to the body of the shell. A late lunch is on its way; we’ll be finishing off last week’s vegetables with a stir fry of broccoli, onion, kohlrabi, and daikon.